Thorn in My Side

I've picked a path that's so fucking hard to take,
Sin is a habit, and like drugs it's easy to take but hard to break,
When the snake integrates itself with your soul, you're as easy to hunt as a foal.
Innocence gives way to a pessimist, like Adam and Eve my eyes are opened and my nakedness is exposed.
But God knows. And he proposed a different plan -
Ages before you or I were born, even before the first man was adorned with scorn.
When Jesus died, the current was torn and all the sin in the world: the rape, the hurt, the lies, the idols, the fake love, the porn,
doesn't even phase God's judgement on sin and the Love He's covered us with.

I've seen the depths of Gehenna and I've frolicked while wearing dark garments of death. I've tasted cheap love and traded the world for a moment.
And if even my best actions are "but filthy rags," what of my worst?

Paul speaks of a thorn in his side and I've tried to remove mine, time after time.
"Free me from my sin," I've prayed while feeling increasingly dismayed at the road I've paved. "I don't want to be a slave."
But Paul goes on, and in the most unprecedented way. God replies to him and goes on to say, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness."
Maybe freedom from sin is where I got it wrong. Maybe my true freedom has been here all along.
God's grace IS all I need. I've already been freed.

Walking, Talking

Have you ever made a decision?
Have you ever chose to create an incision on your heart that was so focused it demanded a new start?
I've made many. Time and time again, as if a reboot of the soul would change my flesh and be good enough for a complete refresh.
Like when your computer freezes -
Off. Wait. On.
Treating it like on of those long sneezes.
But the things in life that demand a new beginning often have little to do with losing or winning.
A complete 180 is needed sure, but the desire for instantaneous change is like a lure and passes in a blur.
True dedication and rebirth mandate a daily choice to speak in an honest voice and to act according to that conviction.
The first step is a change in direction.
But every step after proves to you and to the watching eyes of the world that you're not simply waiting to be hurled back into what you've decided to abandon.
If what I truly want to land on is God's peace and His purpose for my life,
My conviction needs to weather the inevitable strife.
Walking this path will draw many laughs and scoffing, the air may become thick with unkowning, and I may find myself caughing.
But the best things in life are never instantaneous.
Washington, Roosevelt, Luther, Lincoln, Lee, Reagan:
They knew this kind of thinking is erroneous. 
Sometimes I have to "act as if" until it becomes true.
I have to play the part while my heart restarts and becomes accustomed to this new beat.
It may seem simple, but on the outside all tremendous feats do.
History is shaped by the few who choose momentary daily discomfort over a lifetime of abandoned dreams and security.
Reputation and ego has nothing to do with it
Becoming who I am meant to be and being free of the shackles of empty pleasures and draining desires of my flesh is the true goal.
It's a cleansing of my soul.
And it makes my ehart full.
It wakes me from the lull of everyday life.
So I choose to become a better version of myself.
I put the distractions on the shelf.
And I walk.
One foot in front of the other.
It's the wisdom of my father, mother, sister, and brother-in-law.
I remain flawed.
But seeking Christ fills those gaps and helps me avoid the deadly traps.
Walking, talking.
Thinking, dreaming.
Turning, learning.
Sleeping, waking.
Being, Praying.

He calls.

It's a battle of our minds and our actions
Not mindful of foregone reactions
The third law applies to science and defiance
Reliance on ourselves, compliance with the smells, the looks, the feels, the appeals that steal our love.
Lowercase "L" because it less applies to Heaven than it does to Hell.
The pastors who preach and the fathers who teach fall back on a common speech:
Moderation in everything.
But, of course, this falls on deaf ears and these words tend to turn to fears to the millions of prodigals who drink tainted water that isn't even close to potable
it's poison - filled with sin
and delicious, a dish of burned out wishes for a people with torn out stitches
which once closed their wounded pride but now gush streams of rebelliousness and selfishness.
And I'm done going with that flow.
It's an undertow.
A current of so-called fun that leaves me feeling less alive and more like my feet have kicked the box I've stood on, leaving my body hung on the tree of iniquity.
He cuts that cord.
He fills that void with Love.
Capital "L" - the kind that drives you up to a mountain to yell of His graces and mercies
Flowing around and through, blowing in a hurricane of utter silence and peace - the kind only achieved when a blinded soul has been released.
Freedom is one thing. But I gladly shackle myself to this Love.
A bond servant of Christ, it won't always be sugar, spice, and everything nice.
It's much, much better.
Like when you open up that long overdue letter.
He turns "better" to "best" and lest you think that's all
He's already taken the fall.
He's destroyed every wall.
And from every corner of every long-lost soul,
He calls.

Writing to Dawn

As I sit here and write the night bites my mind takes flight to my brother, my past, the things of light I used to be so sure I was sure the world was a lure and I had the cure but now I'm unsure Age supposedly brings wisdom and questions and this here is my confession: I just don't know. That might be a low blow that blows because 18 year old me was ready to grow but growing is through pain and as the night starts to wane I see myself in the future holding a cane Will I become tame? Or like a lion, uncaged? These questions are haunting and where once I was flaunting, in reality I've been tried, judged, and been found wanting. The dawn is breaking, my fingers are shaking, the moon is waning And to the darkness the light is tainting. I'm less confident and so here I sit. Writing. Fighting. Delighting.

Trying

Sometimes I want to write,
my brain it stops, tries to fight,
poetry simply won't come out,
So I sit and look into the night.

Sometimes I try to be witty,
To be honest, it's pretty shitty,
The jokes simply aren't clever,
Like 'what's a small cat?' It's a kitty.

Once, I tried to be strong,
It wasn't right, actually quite wrong,
I was weaker then when I started,
But my ego was twice as long,

I've tried to become smarter,
Focusing on that makes it harder,
I ended up giving up,
Totally made me feel like an unholy martyr.

Every now and again, I try to be hip,
I end up looking like Kip.
Yeah, from Napoleon Dynamite,
So I took that bud, and gave it a quick nip.

So many things I've tried to do,
In the end, they're all doo-doo,
Trying, trying, never being,
Being me. Just being Lue.


So often I find myself "trying" to be better, to do things that somehow will increase my worth as a person. Stopping and simply being gives me a refresher that it really doesn't matter what I do, especially what I 'try' to do; it really just matters who I am.

And I am a peaceful, free, and stupendous man.
Hey, that kind of rhymed :)
Colin